


Bloodworth

by Lunarium



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Full Moon, Humor, M/M, Monster Bar, Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 19:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: Shiro is a vampire, but he’s not very good at it. Luckily there’s someone to help him along the way, but this stranger may be more than just a stranger, and this may be more than just a one-off meeting in a monster bar.





	Bloodworth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nofanficnova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nofanficnova/gifts).

> Many, many thanks to Genesister and Spatzi for looking this over! ♥️

Music wraps around them like ribbons of hazy smoke and passion. People sway in rhythm to the drawling ambience, all of them oblivious to the odd couple who’ve found one another in the sea of haze.

Shiro takes his new friend by the hand and leads him off the dance floor and past a winding road lined by light-crowned trees. Leading him up marble steps onto a beautiful and large gazebo teeming with lovers—they can get lost here, hide in plain sight. He turns to his curious hanger-on and regards the deep, vibrant hues of violet in his eyes.

_So strange and beautiful_, Shiro thinks. _A rarity as much as any gem. A pity I must harm him._

The beautiful man smiles up at him as if knowing his intentions and shifts slightly, giving a clear view of his smooth, porcelain-white neck.

Shiro wraps one arm around his bare back, cloaking this beauty in his cape, and slowly descends towards his neck—

*

Shiro jolted awake in his sleep, knocking the old-fashioned typewriter from the nightstand and upheaving the nearby bookshelf. The ensuing crash would have woken the dead, or his neighbors in this case, but moments passed and no one pounded against the roof beneath his apartment's floor.

He bleary regarded the area around him—a mere attic, barely bigger than a breadbox!—and uttered a yawn unbecoming of a vampire. 

_Impossible!_ he thought bitterly. _I’d never feed in the middle of a busy crowd! I hate crowds! And why would I even hurt an innocent, beautiful person when I already get blood from the Red Cross weekly?_

A vampire who didn’t hunt. That was the pathetic joke of a monster that Takashi Shirogane had become. He spent his nights typing away his newest New York bestsellers (hardly ever a seller) and days sleeping in or catching up on his Netflix (vampires had their periods of insomnia, who’d have thought?!) 

As he regarded his laptop, contemplating if it was worth it to get up and begin his day—well, night—the laptop’s screen suddenly lit up on its own. He stared, vaguely wondering if he was having a sleep paralysis episode—could vampires even get those?—when words appeared on the screen:

_“Then perhaps a simple bar will do the trick?”_

Huh. Rather innocuous for a sleep paralysis. Shiro pushed himself up by his elbows and pulled the laptop closer to him. He read the message again. 

The words were written in on his writing program—he, like other vampire-writers, preferred Scrivener—but it didn’t flow with the rest of the story Shiro had been making. Of course, it was possible he also wrote it while half-asleep.

_You didn’t._

Shiro jumped as the words appeared before him in response, without any provocation. 

_Go outside tonight. Head to the bar with the logo of a little bat taking off with the olive in the martini._

Shiro’s fingers twitched with both worry and annoyance. Whoever this telepathic writer was (if they even existed), they were ruining his word count. Shiro liked being precise. Two thousand words, three thousand, five thousand on really inspired nights, or just a mere one hundred—whatever it was, Shiro liked writing to a neat round number, none of this “1,532 words” crap. It had to be a perfect number ending in a zero. 

He made to delete the words when more appeared. 

_You’re not taking any of this seriously, are you? Go to the bar as I had instructed._

Then to Shiro’s surprise, the mystery writer went on typing the actual plot of his story, until—boom. His word count ticker reached the next hundredth mark. 

Shiro drew a big sigh of relief. “Thank you.” 

_You’re welcome. I can keep this going for however long until you leave._

“But why would I leave?” Shiro asked aloud. He could type his question in, but his mystery writer seemed to hear him perfectly clear. “I’m busy tonight.”

_Are you?_

“Yeah! I write! I’m always writing! I have book deals, and literary magazines, and some fanfiction zines—Star Trek’s really great, by the way. I rarely ever leave this place. Don’t need to. I get blood delivered to my door like the proper twenty-third century vampire that I am.” 

_But you’re getting hypohemoglobulinic. Come drink me._

“...Don’t you mean aplastic anemic?” Shiro had recently researched the topic for a story. He was quite proud of himself for knowing that. 

_No, silly. You’re not living, remember?_

Well, that hurt. Shiro didn’t like being reminded that he was dead. Rude. 

His mystery writer kept going at what was an attempt at poetic prose (unrelated to his story, this time, but it didn’t matter) until they hit the next hundredth, ending the ramble with the line, “And follow the ethereal trail of Kosmo the cosmic wolf to me.” 

Shiro snorted, charmed by their dedication to keep Shiro’s Scrivener document exactly how Shiro liked it. At this point, he had to admit he was intrigued. He closed the laptop, and that was when he noticed the wolf. It stood a couple feet away in a ghostly haze, black with a dazzling iridescent array of blues and violets. 

“Hello there,” Shiro said hesitantly, hoping the wolf was friendly. “Were you the one writing in my Scrivener—Wait! Are you Kosmo?” 

The wolf whimpered and made its way against his door. He gripped the handle with its jaws and turned it, then sped out. Confused, Shiro followed it down the steps, moving gingerly as not to draw any attention to himself. But near the landing his foot came upon a step and the stair creaked loudly. He cringed; he forgot about that step. 

“SHIROGANE?!” the blind landlady called out from her unit nearby. “Is that you?!” 

“Landlady Sanda!” Shiro chuckled nervously, keeping his eyes on Kosmo the wolf. Was the landlady even named Sanda? For some reason that name came to Shiro. “I’ll, uh, have the rent money soon—promise!” 

Sanda mumbled something inside, but Shiro didn’t stick around long to find out what it was. Nodding towards Kosmo, he inched towards him, reaching out his hand to pet his head, but Kosmo was soon off, and Shiro was again chasing after him into the night.

Not a soul noticed a vampire in modest slacks and white shirt and cape—capes were still in vampire fashion, okay?—chasing a glowing cosmic wolf down the roads of Monhurst, and no one bothered them. Shiro tried whistling to Kosmo a few times. Was Kosmo leading him somewhere or was he just chasing a space ghost around in circles? Given how bad Shiro’s memory was of the local town, he could have just been going past the same building, and he would not have even noticed. 

But finally, Kosmo’s run came to an end—and then Kosmo himself ended, dissipating right before Shiro’s eyes. Shiro was left staring at where Kosmo deposited him: right before a place called Monster Bar: Ales From The Crypt. The logo had a picture of—excuse me, but that was a bat _perching_ on the olive stick of a martini, _not_ taking off with it. 

Shiro scowled at it. Then, pulling his cape tighter around himself, he stepped inside. 

Music from the The Crypt-Kicker Five filled the vicinity of the purple and green-bricked bar. Monsters of all sorts sat around—kappas, vampires, werewolves, witches, night elves, dragon-borns, djinn, sea monsters, and so many more he couldn’t recall—amidst a few humans. Or, perhaps they were monsters who were just very normal-looking enjoying the nightlife in good-natured company. Drinks of all sorts were served. He spotted everything from green frothy goop to bloody martinis with bits of brains to—ugh, that smell! All right, he supposed some monsters needed pure petroleum, so long as the government didn’t find out where their finite resources went. 

Near the center, a crowd of dancers obscured his view of most of the posters: a sweet collection of old famous films and books which Shiro would have loved to study, if he wasn’t panicking about being trampled under by a stampede of feet. He pressed himself against the barstools, eyeing the crowd anxiously until they passed.

That was when he saw him. 

Past the field of monster dancers, settled on a barstool alone in the corner of the bar station, sat a man so beautiful Shiro’s breath was knocked out of him. The violet of the young man’s eyes dazzled bright and bore into Shiro’s, more vibrant than anything else about the bar. More vibrant than anything else the man wore, than his pale, porcelain skin, than his smooth jet-black hair that fell around his bare shoulders. 

_The man of my dreams_, Shiro realized. _Literally. Of course._

They studied one another silently from their places, across the bar, neither moving. Finally, the young man smiled knowingly. He made a come-hither gesture with his finger, and realizing how silly he had been acting, Shiro willed his legs to move. 

“Hi,” Shiro said awkwardly as he settled on the barstool next to him. 

“Come here often?” the young man said with an air of jest. 

Shiro chuckled. “I think you know the answer to that already, if you’re my mystery writer.” 

The man chuckled. “Guess so.” 

“How were you able to do that?” 

“You mean, control the laptop back in your apartment while sitting right over here?”

“Yeah.” 

The man smiled, and Shiro’s undead heart clenched as though an old emotion had just reared its head. 

“My kind have many skills.”

“...Ah, fair.” 

“The name’s Keith.” 

_Keith._ There was something about that name... “Short for—?” 

“Just Keith.” 

Keith. Shiro, as many writers often were, was obsessed with the meaning of names. Keith was a beautiful name. It meant “wood,” and belonged to many a Scottish noble. Shiro had used the name for one of his own Scottish nobleman character once, for a homoerotic short story he published in a lit magazine last year. Two people had praised his story—a whole two! He still got dizzy with fondness over those emails. 

Needless to say, he loved Keith—er, the name, at least. There was always something about this name that filled him with warmth; Shiro assumed it had to do with his previous life although he couldn’t remember what that was exactly. Anyhow, this beautiful Keith wasn’t so bad, either, and immediately his mind began to wax poetic.

_Of your beauty I'll twine a wreath _

_Violets and roses in thy name of Keith._

...Fuck, he had to get better at this. Practice makes perfect. 

“So you were the one invading my Scrivener and my dreams?” Shiro chuckled sheepishly. He noticed the necklace Keith was sporting: a little running wolf in iridescent colors. Kosmo. “Keith of many skills.” 

“Yeah,” Keith said. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while. Got worried for you because the blood you’re drinking isn’t what your type of body needs.” 

Shiro studied Keith’s eyes and his smooth neck, not quite able to discern what sort of ghoul he was. He noted two sharp teeth, but Keith wasn’t a vampire; he didn’t give _that_ sort of vibe. On his bare back were two markings he couldn’t quite understand what they were...Tattoos? Scars? Something else? 

Another strange feeling washed over Shiro, like he had seen these marks before, but he quickly brushed them aside. Hadn’t he been dancing with Keith in his dreams? Maybe that’s where he had seen them. 

But—oh was Keith’s neck so…inviting. 

_Oh, that beauty named Keith _

_Thy necks dost I sink my teeth._

...Well, that was just plain...plain. _Shit_. 

“What do you mean?” Shiro tried to keep his tone humorous, even if he felt a tad bit offended by the presumptuousness of this newcomer. He thought he was doing well on the blood from the Red Cross. Unless there was some conspiracy to kill all vampires. Or it was a conspiracy Keith himself believed in. _Please don’t let Keith be one of those types._

“Well,” Keith frowned. “I may as well—you’re my bloodworth. You must have _my_ blood.” 

Shiro furrowed his brow. Bloodworth? What was that all about? Were all vampires someone’s bloodworth? Was Keith making it all up or was he, Shiro, failing yet again at being a vampire? Admittedly there wasn’t any vampire orientation for him to attend when he became one of the undead. He couldn’t even remember the night he was turned. 

“Why so? Is there something wrong with the Red Cross blood?” 

“No, not at all! It’s helped many vampires!” 

_Phew._

“But there’s something else you need,” Keith said. “Something only my blood can give you. You’re sick, and getting sicker as time goes by. You don’t realize it, but you’ll soon feel it.” 

He did have a point. Shiro _was_ starting to feel dizzy recently. Then again, maybe it had to do with sitting next to someone as gorgeous as Keith. 

_Into your caravans I slip in as a sheath _

_And in passion I’ll cry thine name of Keith!_

_...Gods above_, he was _terrible_ at this. 

“So...what do you propose we do?” Shiro asked. “Get into the crowd and—”

“No,” Keith said. “I know you hate crowds. Follow me.”

They made their way across the bar and out back into the mercifully quiet night. Smiling back at Shiro, Keith led the way. Thankfully, none of the dancing spilled out there. They were able to peacefully walk about in the tranquility of the darkness, interrupted by the occasional passing car or another pedestrian. To the unsuspecting eye, they were just a couple enjoying a late-night stroll. 

The moon, Shiro noticed as the clouds pulled away, was full tonight, and it cast a silvery glow around Keith. It highlighted his features, making him even more beautiful, as if that were even possible. He swallowed thickly and wondered again just what, exactly, Keith was. Since leaving the bar, they barely exchanged a few words. 

“Here.” The word was spoken softly, but it grabbed Shiro’s attention all the same. Keith led him in the direction of the library, but they didn’t go inside. It would be closed by now anyway. Instead, he led him towards a small park just beyond, the center of which rested a gazebo. 

“Just like in the dream,” Shiro chuckled as Keith took his hand and helped him up the stairs. But no one else besides them were present. “But emptier.”

“Figured you will prefer it this way,” Keith said. “Now, my blood.” 

“Yeah…your blood...”

Shiro was, admittedly, nervous for this moment. He hadn’t exactly taken blood the good old-fashioned way before; he wasn’t sure if his fangs were long enough, sharp enough, or if the process was going to go as smoothly as it should. What if he accidentally pierced a large artery instead of a nice little vein? Or worse, hit the jugular? 

“You seem anxious,” Keith said. 

“I kinda am,” Shiro confessed. “I just don’t want to hurt you.” 

Keith chuckled and threw his head down, his long locks of hair slipping down elegantly over his eyes. Shiro watched Keith’s hair slip off his bare shoulders like black flowing rivers.

“You can’t hurt me, Shiro,” Keith said, looking back up as he shook the hair away from his eyes. “Really, you can’t.”

He then stood a good couple feet away from Shiro and adjusted his top. Shiro watched, transfixed, as wings emerged from Keith’s back: vibrantly violet, shimmering, cosmic like his wolf. Slim and rather small, they flapped, creating a strong gust of wind that would have swept Shiro off his feet had he not planted them firm on the ground in anticipation. 

“Beautiful!” he gasped, unaware of the goofy look on his face, a cross of bewildered and impressed. “I-I can turn into a bat and fly too!”

“Well!” Keith chuckled. “My kind of guy! We can fly together!” 

Shiro didn’t stop to think what an odd couple they’d make in the sky—a gorgeous winged man and a little bat next to him. Shakily, he offered his hand, and Keith stepped into his orbit, gazing up at him with those vibrant, glimmering eyes—was it just Shiro’s imagination or did they have specks of gold and silver within? It was as if something moonlight was interwoven into his irises. 

Cupping Shiro’s face, Keith gently guided him down for a kiss, their fangs briefly brushing. Still Shiro had no idea what Keith was. The wings made him think he was a bird of some sort, but no winged monster had fangs that he knew of; and the more he looked into Keith’s eyes, studied his features, the more of a wolflike aura he gave. 

Well, what Keith was didn’t matter. He was woozy with lust and thirst, and Keith was offering himself freely, neck ready and free for the taking, basked in silvery light. Gingerly Shiro wrapped his cape around him, protecting him from the cold while making certain not to crush those delicate and beautiful wings. Keith cooed softly against him, kissing his neck—gods, he was sensitive! 

He felt his fangs lengthen and the hunger, the need, a sort of lust, compelled him towards the beauty locked in his arms, until—

A high-pitched shrill laughter broke their moment. Keith groaned. 

“Haggarilda the Hag!” Keith growled, pushing himself away from Shiro’s arms as he spun around. “What do you want now?!” 

Shiro pouted. He was having such a nice moment with Keith, had finally worked up the memento to being a proper vampire for once, but now…

He looked up to see a hunched-back witch leering at them as she gripped the fence of the gazebo, white hair flying in the wind. 

“Ah, Little Keith, Little Keith!” she sang. “I’ve been looking all over for you! See, I need a bit of your blood for a spell! And perhaps a wing or two!” She turned towards Shiro. “A bit of the vampire’s fangs and bat-wings wouldn’t go amiss either!” 

“You can buy all this shit at the local Magic Market!” Keith spat, getting more annoyed by the moment. “Get with the century, you old hag!” 

“Ah, but I prefer _fresh_ produce, Little Keith!” 

“Are you fucking kidding me—run, Shiro!”

⁂

“Dark is the night!” Hunk said brightly and took a great big sniff of the air, his massive chest expanding impressively. He regarded the delicious morsel he had found in the Monster Bar: Ales From the Crypt. “And tasty is this wedge of metal! Hmmmnnn!”

“Hunk, did you actually tear that from the bar’s bathroom?!” Dr. Pidge Holtenstein cried out as she ran out of the bar, waving one arm as if to chastise him. 

“Ah, let the big guy enjoy some heaps of metal!” Lance said as he strolled up behind them, holding up his own plate of loot. “Who’s he hurting? No one.”

“Lance! Did you steal all the cocktail shrimp?” Dr. Holtenstein next turned on him. “I wanted some!”

Lance contracted his head into his shell, caught blue-handed, before popping back up and clutching his loot closer to himself. “It had my name on it!” He dipped his fingers into the bouquet of cocktail and pulled a sample out. 

“Hey, this one’s still alive!” he announced happily as he plopped it into his mouth. 

_“HELP!”_

The three of them froze as two figures ran past them. Hunk scanned the passersby, eyes wide. 

“Superhuman speed of sixty miles per hour—one with heart rate over a hundred, another with no heart rate at all,” Hunk announced. “Distress detected nearby!” 

“_Poseidon’s tail_, you programmed him to do all that?” Lance said, watching Hunk with admiration while Dr. Holtenstein clapped her hands, delighted at her creation’s abilities. 

_“HELP!”_

“Oh, right, sounds like someone’s in danger!” Dr. Holtenstein said, coming back to her senses right away. Adjusting her glasses, she noticed who the chaser was and blanched. “Ooooh, this’ll be trouble, guys.” 

“Ha, I love trouble!” Lance said.

“Does it taste better than this?” Hunk asked, shaking the sink P-trap. 

“YES!” Dr. Holtenstein and Lance said in unison, and it was enough to get Hunk all riled up. He pressed play on his MP3 player, and “Help” by The Beatles blared through his earphones as the three chased after the evil witch and her two victims.

*

“Hey, need a hand there, pal?!”

Keith, who was holding Haggarilda back with his dagger that could transform into a long blade, glanced to his left and saw a giant patched-up monster, a sea creature of some sort, and a mad scientist approach. 

“Whatever you can, don’t let her get to Shiro!” Keith called out. 

“You heard her, Lance and Hunk!” said the tiny scientist with the glasses that glowed eerily in the moonlight. 

“Why me? It’s Keith’s blood she’s after!” Shiro cried out, who was pinned to the ground by the witch’s foot and didn’t very much like being in this position at all. He appreciated how much Keith was trying to protect him, but he was putting himself in unnecessary danger, and really, while the gesture was nice, Shiro would cast himself into the sun if anything should happen to Keith because of him. 

“You protect the vampire then, Dr. Holtenstein!” Lance laughed to the scientist. 

Hunk made towards them, his heavy feet shaking the ground as he ran, and lifted the P-trap over his head, about to knock the hag over the head when she got an eye of him. 

“Oooh!” Haggarilda cried as she popped her head from the cloud of chaos, studying Hunk hungrily. “You have such juicy parts I can use!” 

“I put him together painstakingly myself! Don’t touch him!” Dr. Holtenstein roared. She pulled Hunk away from danger and made a run for it. 

“Hey!” Keith cried out and pulled Shiro away, running after the scientist. Lance watched them, shrugged, and chased after them. 

“So fighting the Hag is clearly not helping!” Lance laughed near them. 

“She’s ganging up on us!” Shiro protested. “We need to fight her together!” 

The trio didn’t respond, instead zipping off with Keith and Shiro on their heels. As they all proceeded down the street, Lance nearly bumped into another group passing the other way... 

“Whoops, sorry!”

No one stopped to notice who it was they had nearly slammed into. 

A purple-faced vampire and his coven of female followers, casually enjoying the night on their own, watched as Pidge, her friends, and the two others fled. One of them—a half-tiefling with horns—nudged the lone man in the group and said, “Sir Lotor.” 

“What is it, Acxa—ah.” He watched the five hurry by with an amused look before looking over to see the white-haired witch. “I see. On my mark, ladies.” 

A flurry followed, and Pidge, Hunk, and Lance stopped as they heard an angry screech, with Shiro and Keith nearly slamming into them. Stopping and looking back for the moment, all five saw a small camp of purple bats descended down on Haggarilda in a flurry of squeaks.

“That’ll only buy us a little bit of time,” Dr. Holtenstein said to Keith and Shiro. “We need a good place to hide from that old biddy. Follow me. I know the way to the Lion Witch.”

⁂

Dark clouds crackling with the occasional lightning circled above the Lion Witch’s abode, which stood atop a small hill a ways from town. An iron gate protected the old place, which was a tall and old-looking manor, the bricks cracking. One window was broken in, and tall gnarled trees littered the spacious yard and the spiraling driveway. Rows of five large, stone statues of lions greeted the group as they ran past the gates and towards the large iron front door.

“Hey, you feel like those eyes are following you?” Lance asked. Hunk raised his hand to knock on the door, but his fist barely touched the door before it swung wide open, revealing a tall mustached man behind it. 

“Ah, you must be the ghoulish guests Allura’s expecting! She saw you through her crystal ball! Come in, do come in!” 

They filed in. Shiro peered behind his shoulder in time to see one of the lion’s eyes flash wide open. A roar shook the ground, and then a moment later, the lion soared into the air, expanding its wings. Four more stone lions followed though none of the others had wings. In that moment Haggarilda appeared, surrounded by a thick cloud of sharp-toothed bats, and attacked the mighty guardians, who fought back with ferocity. 

“Looks like that coven could only hold her back for some time,” Keith said in a quiet voice so only Shiro could hear. He ushered him inside.

The manor’s ceiling stood high above them, so high that Shiro got a crick in his neck as he tried to look up. Though the wallpapers were dulling and browned with age, bulbs of electric blue light floated around the halls. A closer look and Shiro could discern tiny wires and charter marks. Magic or science, or a bit of both? 

“You must be the seekers of my magic,” a clipped and proper voice greeted them. They turned around to see a dark-skinned young witch with white hair. Her eyes were as bright and blue as the bulbs of light floating about. 

“Just need a place to hide away from the evil witch,” Lance replied with a bow. 

Allura’s gaze shifted towards Shiro, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. 

_Do you remember?_

“My house has a protective shield around it, and my lions are defending against any curse Haggarilda is throwing at us. You are safe here.”

_Do you remember?_ her voice echoed again in Shiro’s mind. He clamped his hands over his ears, as if that would break the telepathic connection—really, Shiro was just a little nervous Allura would steal one of his story ideas. Keith was one thing—he saw Shiro’s Scrivener files!—but Shiro didn’t know Allura at all. (Damn, what was it with all these mind readers tonight?) 

Allura kept her gaze steady on him before readdressing the others. 

“Follow me.”

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice came soft and gentle as he placed a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. He ushered him towards Allura. “Are you ok?”

Shiro didn’t respond as Allura had her butler Coran set out refreshments for Dr. Holtenstein, Hunk, and Lance: a large silver plate adorned with tiny cubes of cakes, cookies, cups of glazed fruit and nuts. And to drink was bright green drinks with a vague fragrance of apples, berries, and some sort of flower. 

“Great hospitality!” Hunk’s voice carried as violin music drifted through the air, played by a ghostly woman with two long blonde ponytails. “Delicious!”

“Only the classics, Romelle!” Coran cried out whenever the violin player got sick of the tune and would switch it up until it became some bizarre auditory chimera of classical, country, jazz, and heavy metal. 

Soon enough, Allura led Shiro and Keith up to one of the guest bedrooms. She drew the curtains closed so no light from the dawn would peak through—that was when Shiro realized it was getting late, very late, and damn it he had barely gotten a chance to get home and write a single word today!

Smiling as if she knew what he was thinking, Allura turned her attention to the middle of the room. After setting the furniture aside, she conjured up a large coffin: black, with a shiny surface and an interior of blood red and white. The interior looked plush, comfortable and inviting. So unlike the couch Shiro had been sleeping on.

“I’m…sorry, you want me to sleep?” Shiro asked. Keith squeezed his hand, and Shiro assumed it was out of giving him support. 

Allura nodded. “It’s advisable you sleep in the coffin, Shiro,” she said. “And try to remember.” 

“Remember? Remember _what?_” 

But Allura had already averted her attention back to the happenings outside the manor. She peered through a crack in the curtains, checking on her lions. 

“The lions are still holding out, but I don’t know for how much longer,” Allura mused under her breath. “Even if Haggarilda gets tired, she’ll be back the next night. She won’t stop because she knows where you are, Keith.” 

Shiro turned back and met Keith’s eyes, feeling apologetic for...well, he wasn’t exactly sure _what_ it was. But Keith just smiled encouragingly at him, though he didn’t say a word. Eyeing the coffin warily for a few moments, Shiro sighed. 

_No use but to get inside_, Shiro decided. _We’ll deal with whatever comes when I wake up._

⁂

“You worry for him.” Allura cocked her head a little to one side, studying Keith intently through long lashes.

Keith nodded, who hadn’t left Shiro the moment he had slipped into the coffin. He had seemed nervous about sleeping in there, but the moment his head touched the plush interior it was all lights out. It was proper to close the lid of a coffin while a vampire slept, but the room was properly kept dark due to the heavy curtains, lit up with one sole floating bulb, and Keith just wanted to look at him. 

“I didn’t get the chance to give him my blood,” Keith said. “Haggarilda stopped us. He won’t—I mean—”

“He’s not in any danger, no. There’s still time.” 

Keith drew in a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” 

“Why don’t you go and sleep? The others are going to bed; I can hear Romelle playing a lullaby right now. My Lions should protect us until the evening.” 

“I should sleep too, gather my strength for tomorrow...but I don’t want to leave his side.” 

Allura chuckled. “You’ve been watching over him for a long time, huh?” 

“Guess you can say that.” 

“Does he know?” 

Keith scoffed and faced her. “I think you know the answer to that.” 

Allura sighed heavily; the light from a nearby bulb wavered shadows over her features. “He did seem amnesic.” 

“I know. I want him to remember.” 

Allura glanced towards the windows. “Are you sure?” 

Keith nodded. “I got everyone in this mess. I’m the reason why he’s…like this. I’m okay with that. But I want him to know the truth. It’ll be better this way.” 

Allura nodded and approached. “And you know I can help him remember. Want me to perform the spell?” 

Keith nodded. 

Allura approached the coffin. Placing one hand on Shiro’s brow, she motioned for Keith to take her hand. 

“Touch him,” she instructed. Keith leaned over and touched Shiro’s brow, his own fingers an inch away from Allura’s fingers. Closing his eyes, he felt the magic from Allura surge through him and into Shiro—

⁂

Shiro spotted the young student tucked away, alone, in the small sea of seats. Lost, pointedly not looking at him, gazing out the window and ignoring the guest.

He smiled. There was always one pouty one in every class.

*

“Think you got what it takes?”

The small student approached, uncertain as if Shiro had made a mistake in selecting him for the simulator. But Shiro kept on an encouraging smile for the young student. And then he looked up, and Shiro was a little taken aback when he saw eyes a vibrant shade of violet. 

The student flew the simulator like a pro, and for a second time Shiro was stunned.

*

Years passed. Keith had become his best friend, but there were always doors Shiro couldn’t cross, parts of Keith kept well-guarded. Shiro respected Keith’s privacy, of course, but a nagging feeling about those mysterious dark splotches of Keith’s life kept Shiro worried all the same. Keith never spoke about his past, and he was strangely cautious of never getting injured. Not that anyone wanted to walk around bleeding to death or sporting a black eye, but Keith seemed strangely hyper-aware of preventing even paper cuts. Hemophilia, perhaps, or another blood disease. Not surprising he’d want to keep it secret, then.

He would run off at least once a month and be gone for a few days at a time. He wouldn’t show up for class. Shiro kept track of the assignments and the reading Keith was missing for that period, so that his grades wouldn’t suffer too much. Always, seeing him again was welcoming relief. Keith was all right. Always. And his grades never suffered, although Keith had the higher ups in the school to tend to. More than once Shiro had stuck his neck out for him. 

“Why are you doing this for him?” Admiral Sanda had wondered and shook her head. “He’s never going to graduate if he keeps doing this, you must know that.” 

Shiro just smiled as he walked away from her office. He didn’t know why Keith always disappeared, but he was sure he had good reason. And Shiro was just being a good friend. He cared a lot for Keith.

*

“Sam, did you see Keith?” Shiro asked.

Samuel Holt shook his head. “Think I saw him leaving school grounds.” 

Shiro swore under his breath. Was Keith off on his once-a-month leave? “He left his phone behind!” 

“Oh.” Sam adjusted his glasses. Behind him, their fellow classmate Colleen glanced up from her work on the computer, her fast typing momentarily halted. “Well, he’ll be back. He never leaves for long.” 

“But what if he needs it?” Shiro frowned. As far as he knew, Keith had no family and no other friend besides himself. What if he needed to contact someone, got injured and had to call for help? What if he had to call for Shiro? 

Not that Keith ever had need to contact Shiro, but the thought of him being without his phone, a vital piece in today’s world, troubled Shiro. He couldn’t wait until Keith returned. 

“Maybe Keith’s visiting family?” Sam offered. “There’ll be a phone there.” 

“No, I don’t think so…”

“You’re not thinking of following him, are you?” Sam chuckled. “It’s the full moon tonight. Oh, and it’s Friday the thirteenth. Back luck, you know!” 

Colleen and Sam chuckled together over the coincidence. Ignoring them, Shiro calculated: if he chased after Keith now, he could catch up to him early on, return the phone, and he wouldn’t have to intrude on Keith’s private affairs. It’ll be fine.

“Which way did he go?” Shiro asked. 

Out in the desert. Frowning, Shiro didn’t think twice as he went down the direction Sam pointed, his gaze searching for any sign of Keith. He didn’t want to lose him before Keith reached the canyons, if that was where he was going. 

“Keith!” 

Was that him? He saw a tiny figure ahead. It jumped when he called out the name—it had to be him!—but it darted out of sight. Frowning, Shiro followed. _No, Keith, it’s me, it’s Shiro!_

His chase took him to a clearing near the mouth of a cave. Keith stood before a tiny pool in the red desert ground. He was stripping from his shirt as Shiro caught up to him, but Shiro barely had time to stop and look away to give Keith privacy when his back stole all of Shiro’s attention: 

Two large mark ran down Keith’s back, as vibrant as his eyes that glimmered—what were they? Tattoos? A strange set of scars? 

Before Shiro could ponder further, wings sprouted from them, and in that moment, Keith shifted under the silvery rays of the moon. His face elongated into that of a wolf’s snout, his body grew stout, his legs wrapped and arms stretched out into limbs—before Shiro knew it, a wolf-like being with wings, shimmering in shades of grey and violet and blue, peered up at the moon and howled. 

Shiro backed away slowly. 

Oh. Of course. He should have known. Once a month. Full moon. The town of Monhurst, adjacent to the very busy Plaht City, was the local monster town. It shouldn’t have been weird to think that Keith, his very own best friend, was among the ghouls. He had befriended a monster. Nothing wrong with that. Just very awkward. Also, very fluffy, and probably wouldn’t be very happy to see him there right now. 

Sure, he still had Keith’s phone, but Shiro figured he could hold on to it and give it back the next morning or whenever Keith was done with being a very pretty winged werewolf, he supposed. Then he could ask him a few questions.

Like about the wings.

_Werewolves have wings?_ Shiro wondered as he edged towards the mouth of the cave. _I never thought…well. Color me surprised—_

There was a hiss behind him. He turned around, and that was when two long fangs plunged into his neck.

*

Keith heard nothing—Shiro hadn’t even screamed. He didn’t need to hear anything. He could smell the blood.

Growling, Keith immediately ran to the source of danger and found a tall figure standing curled over Shiro, who lay flat on the ground. The vampire continued to drink from Shiro, unaware that Keith approached. Shiro’s glassy stare barely registered the other’s presence; one of his feet and both hands trembled from blood loss. 

Without thinking, Keith attacked and fought the vampire off, forcing him away from Shiro. The pest burst into a puff of black smoke and took off as a bat flapping its wings in the moonlit night. 

Keith turned back to the human, taking in the deathly pale complexion, the unseeing eyes; it was the face of his best friend at death’s door. The vampire hadn’t planned to turn Shiro; they just wanted to feed off of him. Damn them. 

But Shiro…why had he come? Keith always told Shiro to never come after him; he never wanted him to know anything about his life—damn it, Shiro! 

In his hand was a phone—Keith’s own phone. Was that why he had come out here? Damn...that was so...stupid and kind of Shiro. Keith could send messages anywhere telepathically, but of course Shiro didn’t know that. Much as he wanted to rage against that, it was so hard for Keith to be angry at Shiro for such an act. 

_No…_ Tears welled up in Keith’s eyes. _Oh, Shiro…I was the stupid one. I shouldn’t have left my damn phone behind!_

Transforming back into human form, Keith settled next to Shiro and cradled Shiro’s head in his lap. He bit hard on his wrist, drawing blood, and held it out to Shiro’s lips. 

“Shiro…” Keith said softly. “Please, drink from me.” 

_Keith._

Keith squeezed his eyes and shook his head. No, fuck this shit. Not now. 

“Shiro…open your eyes. I know you can do it. Take my blood. You can do it. You’ll live.” 

_Keith._

_“Fucking hell, Mom!”_ Keith growled. Damn this mind-share. His mother could be on the other side of the universe but she knew if he was up to no good. _“I’m busy!”_

_What are you doing, son? Not what I think you’re doing—_

_“I have to save him, Mom. Shiro’s my only friend. I…I love him.”_

_But you know what will happen if your blood leaks into this world. They will smell it. You will be hunted. You and Shiro._

Keith squeezed his eyes again. She was right. But he had already split his wrist. Even though commercialized, synthetic Carnaroght blood was slowly becoming more commonplace for magic users, many wicked witches and hags preferred the real thing. Which meant that people like Keith had to remain in hiding. Or leave the planet, but why be bullied by a few assholes trying to kill you? Earth still had the most stable education system in the known universe, at least more preferable from where his mother came from. 

All Keith’s life, he was careful to never even get a paper cut. But he never thought twice when it came to Shiro.

_“I know, Mom,”_ Keith said. _“But I can’t lose him. I can’t lose Shiro.”_

He pressed his wrist right up against Shiro’s mouth, and smiled when he felt the tip of a wet tongue lick over his blood. 

_“It’s okay, Mom. He’s worthy of my blood. I know what this means, and I’m fine with it. I’ve chosen him. So, I’ll watch over him.”_

⁂

“KEITH!”

Struggling against confinements of the coffin, Shiro threw the coffin door open, pulled himself out and fell, hitting the multiple-rugged floor with a heavy thud. 

“Keith!” he gasped and coughed again. “I—I remember! I—we—the Garrison—_your phone_! Did you get it back?!” 

Keith, who had been sitting near a window, approached. “Shiro, take my blood, now! You need it!” 

“No, I—”

“Please, you must! You’re getting weaker!”

“But, Keith—”

“Yes, I got my phone back! Now, will you shut up and take my blood?!” 

Pressing against him, Shiro got a whiff of Keith’s scent, and his body’s instincts kicked into gear. Holding Keith tight, Shiro sank his teeth into Keith’s neck, and his sweet-tasting blood filled his mouth. Shiro moaned against him, his body rocking against him. Just like the first time in the canyons, he realized. He at first took little tentative licks before his body had turned and he had grown desperate for more. 

Now, that feeling was back again, and he wanted all the blood he could get, but what if he drained Keith?

“No—don’t want to hurt you!” Shiro gasped as he pulled away. 

“You won’t.” Keith laughed as his wings spurt behind him. “You can’t, my bloodworth, as I said. Take what you want! Already feeling better now that you’re fortified with my blood, yeah? I bet you do. It’s been so long. More than twenty years, in fact.”

Shiro nodded sheepishly—really, he did feel better, like he could jog to the state line and back, twice—and wiped away at some blood that smeared on his lips. Over twenty years? Keith barely aged in that time. Which was great for Shiro, really. That meant they could be immortals together. 

...Oh right, he had questions for Keith.

“So, what, you’re like a werewolf from outer space or something?” 

Keith nodded. “I guess you can say that!” 

“Really?” Shiro beamed. “From space! I loved space! I always knew you were special!” 

He pulled Keith in for a kiss, lingering, hungry and tender, and was interrupted only by the thunder outside. 

“How’s everyone?” Shiro asked. 

“It’s night two of the battle,” Keith said. “The lions have tired. Allura and the others are fighting Haggarilda. She’s gotten a few more tricks up her sleeve since we last fought her.” 

“Then I’ll join them,” Shiro said. “I feel…stronger than I ever have before, damn. I can help them!” 

“No,” Keith smiled. “_We’ll_ join them.” 

“Really?” Shiro studied Keith. “You sure? You’re not feeling weak after I…?” 

“Nope.” A shake of his head. “Nothing you do can hurt me. My blood is powerful stuff. Which is why Haggarilda is after it.” 

Shiro smiled. “Keith of many skills and strengths. And my best friend.” 

Smiling, Shiro helped Keith to his feet. Hand in hand, the two ran out the bedroom to join the battle.

⁂

The moon shone bright and silver. Romelle had taken her violin-playing outside in celebration for the battle’s victory. As Allura was in a good mood, the ghostly musician was allowed to play a more jovial piece.

The five unexpected friends were welcome to stay however long they wished. Coran brought out an entire buffet table laden with so much food it was enough to feed an entire army—or a small band of ravenous ghouls. They sang songs and laughed and shared stories with the young Lion Witch. 

Sitting a little apart from the group were Shiro and Keith. They had found a nice spot that offered a clear view of the stars and the beautiful moon. 

Smiling, Shiro held Keith’s hand. Remembering their younger days together in the Garrison, he pointed to the night sky. 

“Think we can still travel the cosmos?” Shiro asked. “I know you can, but what about me? Think I still have a chance?” 

Keith grinned. “A vampire in outer space? Only one way to find out!”

**Author's Note:**

> The Crypt-Kicker Five is a reference from the song “The Monster Mash”. 
> 
> “Ales From the Crypt” is a pun of the series “Tales From the Crypt”.
> 
> The idea of a winged werewolf came from a little-known monster known as the chamrosh. I decided to alienize it to give maximum creative flexibility for the purpose of this story. :D


End file.
